


in glass coffins they keep coughing

by blackwood (transjon)



Series: they keep trying to row away [3]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Abuse, Birthday Cake, Captivity, Dark, Dehumanization, Gen, Hand Feeding, Implied/Referenced Torture, MerMay, Monsters, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Sadism, Starvation, twisted caretaking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-05-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:15:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24060442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/transjon/pseuds/blackwood
Summary: Jon has two birthdays, now. The day he was born, of course: small and helpless and pink and screaming. And the day he was born again: helpless in Elias' bathtub, and small in the face of the pain of becoming. He hadn’t screamed, then, and by the end of the day his skin had been mostly blue.elias celebrates jon's birthday with him. or, at least one of them is celebrating.
Series: they keep trying to row away [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1735714
Comments: 28
Kudos: 202





	in glass coffins they keep coughing

**Author's Note:**

> the title is from all the rowboats by regina spektor
> 
> ok i. uhhhhh. heres some additional warnings:
> 
> \- repeated mentions of vomit / emeto - it doesnt happen, but its brought up as a concept a bunch
> 
> \- repeated mentions of animal death
> 
> \- its... turning someone into a monster nonconsensually
> 
> \- jonahlias is a fucking bastard
> 
> \- lmk if theres more warnings i should be adding?
> 
> THANK you to The Gang. we truly do enable each other. ily

There is a certain amount of care and sticking to detail that goes into keeping any pet. 

Elias knows this. When he was young, years and years and years ago, he’d had a horse – several, in fact, but this particular horse he remembers, still – and he’d been expected to remember two things, always. 

One – a horse with a broken leg is dead. This one’s obvious enough. Nothing made to run can stand still long enough for a bone that large to fuse back into one piece. Not many people in the world who don’t know this, even if they’ve never seen a horse – even if they’ve never seen a horse with a broken leg – even if they’ve never heard a horse scream. 

Two – horses can’t vomit. Give a horse oleander and it will die. Give a horse enough moldy corn and it will die. Give a horse –

You get the idea. Elias, when he was much younger, had a horse, and it ate something bad, and Elias shot it. Sometimes a bullet is the best medicine. Sometimes death is a mercy. 

Jon isn’t much different. Elias watches him swim by, glittering scales contorting and flexing under the lights as the slender muscles of his tail keep him in motion. He’s been doing this for a while now, small circles around himself, desperation in his movements as he sings to himself. Not _sings_ , Elias supposes, although it sounds that way to him. 

He’s beautiful – of course he is – everything Elias creates ends up beautiful – everything Elias takes and molds and twists and contorts comes out gorgeous and lovely – and so are the melodic, lovely sounds he makes. Like beautiful, carefully and lovingly tuned, expensive instruments. No tune to it, just noise. It’s music enough to Elias, and when he stands in the centre of the room, eyes closed, it reverberates through him.

The cake he’s carrying in his hands isn’t good for Jon, not anymore. Not that cake is _good_ for _anyone_ , but the slice he’s cut for Jon is not really any better than oleander. He won’t die, Elias knows this much. This is how he’s different from a horse. He doesn’t think he’s going to have to shoot him – not for this, at least – but there’s give and take to this gift. Things can’t all be perfect. 

From the platform he can see across the expanse of the tank. The water is clear. He’d had the tank cleaned just the other day – rocks and plants moved and replaced as the vacuum had sucked the bottom free of dirt and algae, Jon swimming around, distress blatant on his face – and he can tell Jon’s still quite unsettled by it. The noises he’s making are loud, then soft, then loud again. It’s like he’s calling out for someone, or something. Elias sets the plate down and kneels on the cool concrete. He would never do this, ordinarily, but Jon, like his childhood horse, has made him make sacrifices lately. 

“Jon,” he calls out. Jon swims another few quick circles around himself. Conflicted, Elias thinks, unsure. “No need for that,” he says, “I have a treat for you.”

Jon’s head appears above the water, just slightly. The membranes over his eyes move like eyelids. “Come on, now,” Elias says, voice going softer, now that Jon’s eyes and ears are above the surface, water going in through his mouth, out through his gills. Jon’s hearing is so sensitive, now, he knows, in the naked air. He won’t hurt him. Not right now, at least. 

“It’s your birthday,” he says softly, hand reaching towards Jon. The piece of cake is squishy and soft on his open palm. Like feeding a horse, he thinks. Just like feeding a horse. “Come on. You’ll like it.”

Jon has two birthdays, now. The day he was born, of course: small and helpless and pink and screaming. And the day he was born again: helpless in Elias' bathtub, and small in the face of the pain of becoming. He hadn’t screamed, then, and by the end of the day his skin had been mostly blue. 

Jon doesn’t know which one of them today it is. He doesn’t know what day it is today in general, for that matter. It doesn’t matter, or it shouldn’t, anyway. It’s enough that Elias knows. He takes care of Jon. That should be enough. 

There’s a look of anguished sadness on Jon’s face, and his head bobs back underwater, and then, after a few seconds, he swims over. Elias watches the motion of his tail as he pushes himself through the water. It’s been a few days since he last fed him anything at all, he knows, and he’s been watching Jon swim around the tank looking for bits of fish in the water fruitlessly most of that time. The flex of his muscles. The spark and glitter of his scales. He’d tried gnawing on the sea grass, the first few times, but he’d quickly learned not to. Elias doesn’t like his decorations destroying each other. He’d shown what getting caught doing that means for Jon and proven that he can see him at all hours of the day enough times that he no longer tries. 

Sometimes, if he keeps him too well fed, he will hide out of sight until he’s hungry again, starved enough to float to the surface and beg for food like a baby bird. Elias thinks about thinning the vegetation, those days, but he does think they make the tank look much nicer, as well. Above all, this tank exists for his pleasure. As much as he likes looking at Jon, he likes watching him zip and float through the beautiful decorations just as much – the plants swaying gently with the motion – the lovely brush of soft algae against his gills when he floats between the plants. He keeps the plants. He has other ways of keeping Jon close enough to the glass to watch. The mirror in the tank helps, as well. 

Jon resurfaces near Elias’ hand, then. “Good boy,” Elias says, and he means it. “I knew you’d be just lovely for me today.”

He nuzzles against Elias’ wrist, and then the side of his hand, blue lips pulling apart to reveal his sharp teeth. His soft, pink tongue. He looks deceptively human, there, if you ignore the teeth, like he might speak any minute. He can’t, of course. It hadn’t taken long at all for that to happen, in the grand scheme of things. His voice had been beautiful. It’s a shame, he thinks, but it really is much better that he no longer screams when Elias cards his fingers through his hair, and the singing really is quite lovely. 

“Go on,” he says, and Jon goes to move himself so that he’s facing Elias directly, so that he can lean his face forward to eat the piece of cake, but Elias catches him by the hair. 

It’s gentle enough. He doesn’t want to hurt him right now. Jon goes very still in his grasp, obedient and afraid. Elias watches his gills flutter, quick and panicked. It’s a lovely slight, he thinks, guiding his head so that to reach the food he has to bend his neck to the side. He can’t see what he’s doing, not like this, not as well as he’d like to, but when Elias’ grasp loosens he opens his mouth eagerly anyway, and even though he misses at first, on the second try he gets almost the whole thing into his mouth in one bite. He swallows greedily, and Elias returns his hand to Jon’s hair, gentle this time. It’s as much of a reward as the cake is. 

He pulls away, and Jon follows his retracting hand like he’s desperate for more. He probably is, Elias thinks, as he carefully takes another piece of the small slice into his hand. The tip of Jon’s long tail breaks the surface of the water as he trashes, eager and impatient. “Greedy,” Elias says. There’s an implied warning in it, and Jon flinches back immediately. Elias offers his hand towards him again, and when Jon approaches again he’s much more cautious – much more polite – much more well behaved – and Elias allows him to nuzzle into his hand to eat. 

Like a horse, Elias thinks. 

When he’d first turned he’d thought Jon was more dog than horse, something to muzzle and collar, but the longer he has him the more he makes Elias think of horses. Soft mouth to the skin of his palm, teeth closing around the food, avoiding him, if only because of the threat of punishment. How long until fear of punishment becomes a genuine desire to do something? 

The slice isn’t enough to sustain him – not even close – not enough nutrients, just fat and carbs where he now needs lean protein, needs _fish_ , and he can't digest most of it anyway – but it’s more than he’s had in days. Hard to have less than nothing, Elias supposes, but in the grand scheme of things it’s better to have more than less. Better more than nothing. He supposes it’s possible after Jon suffers the consequences of this indulgence he will be quite hand shy for a few days – he might have to go back to tossing fish in for a few days, although he very much hopes that won’t be necessary – but it’s a risk he’s willing to take. He watches frosting cling to Jon’s teeth, and then the swipe of his tongue over them, careful and slow. 

“Good?” he whispers gently. He no longer bothers to pull his hand back to get more. Instead, he uses his free hand to move the last piece of the cake to his hand held over the water, and Jon just barely restrains himself from lunging for it. Elias can tell. He’s all muscle underneath his skin – not because he’s particularly strong, but because there is barely any fat in between – and Elias can see every flex of muscle as he locks himself in place. He’s trained him well, even if he’s much too eager for his own good sometimes. 

He pets Jon’s head while he eats, and when the last of the crumbs and the frosting has disappeared into his mouth he freezes for a second, and then slowly, cautiously his tongue swipes across Elias’ hand, checking for pieces he’d missed with his lips and teeth. It’s cold. Much colder than a human tongue, at least, and smooth, and slimy in a way human saliva isn’t. It clings to Elias’ skin in a thick layer, and he’d be disgusted if he wasn’t so fascinated, so glad to have him touch his skin so openly, out of his own free will. He cards his fingers through his hair slowly, and Jon shudders with it. Elias knows it’s fear, not pleasure, but he chooses to ignore that. It’s lovely regardless. Beautiful monster. His lovely creation. 

Jon pulls back, then, finally sure that he’s gotten every last piece of his meal, and Elias takes a moment to untangle his fingers from his silky hair in favor of moving him closer by it in gentle tugs and pulls. Jon lets him. It might be resignation, but Elias finds it charming regardless. He lets go when Jon’s chest collides with the edge of the platform softly, a thud and scrape of scale-covered flesh against concrete, and Jon swims in place for a few moments, tail working in place, the muscles flexing and bulging under his skin, like he’s unsure whether he’s allowed to go. He’s still hungry, Elias knows. He doesn’t intend to give him more. Not today. No fish today, and although the cake won’t kill him, any more and he’ll be in pain for much longer than what Elias thinks will be interesting.

When Elias doesn’t tell him to stay he disappears under the surface again. He’s thin enough the single slice has caused his stomach to bulge out slightly. In comparison, this has been a big meal, Elias knows, and he wants to touch him, run his hands over that distension, massage him – see how he reacts – if he pulls away, if he leans into the touch, if he tries to vomit even if his throat no longer allows him to. He might, later. Jon might even welcome it. Belly rubs help with stomach aches, sometimes, and in a few hours he’s sure he’ll be willing to allow Elias to do anything at all he wants. His mouth waters at the thought. He wants nothing more.

Oleander, he thinks. Some things you’re just not supposed to eat, no matter how beautiful, no matter how satisfying. Oh, how we do what hurts us anyway. 

The glass of the tank is cool against his palm. He waits, quiet, patient, and at last, a few minutes later, he feels the water move in ripples against the glass as the tuneless song Jon sings to himself as he swims reverberates through the walls.

**Author's Note:**

> in case youre interested, the sound i was imagining jon making as he floats around his tank is this song, pretty much [spotify](https://open.spotify.com/track/3cEVhx8rkM0FlETJFFpxoF?si=_U3wp0xESMCQaMvP1WT_vw) / [youtube](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9fN7udMAMog)


End file.
